by Willow Rose
Mrs. Millman didn’t seem to react at all. She kept nodding. Beth leaned forward. “Mrs. Millman, do you understand what we’re telling you?”
“Yes. Yes. You found Daniel.” Mrs. Millman’s hands were constantly moving, rubbing against each other in a nervous way.
Beth and I exchanged looks.
“Mrs. Millman. Your husband’s body was found in the woods. Buried in the ground. We don’t know what caused his death yet, but he seemed to have been in the ground for quite some time. When did he go missing?”
Mrs. Millman shook her head. “November. I reported him missing to Indian Harbor police.”
“I am sorry to say this, Mrs. Millman, but you don’t seem very surprised that your husband is dead,” I said.
She looked at me. She corrected her hair with small fast movements. I couldn’t determine if she was in shock or in some kind of denial, or if she already knew her husband was dead.
“Mrs. Millman. Your husband is dead,” I repeated. It wasn’t uncommon that we had to repeat this kind of information several times before the relatives fully understood what we were telling them. It could be a lot to take in at once. Mrs. Millman was rubbing her hands together while her eyes hit the floor. I detected sadness in her, but couldn’t figure out if it was from the information I had just given her or if it was something else.
“I know,” she said. “I heard you. It’s just…well…He’s been gone for a long time now. I wasn’t expecting to see him again.”
It was like she wanted to tell us something, like we saw the real Mrs. Millman for just a second before she decided to pull back behind the façade protecting her.
“It is, of course, terrible that he’s dead,” she continued, as emotionless as if she had told us about what she had for breakfast. Her voice sounded blurred.
“We’re treating the case as a homicide,” I said.
Mrs. Millman looked at me. “Homicide?” she asked.
“Yes. We believed he was killed. We need to know some information about him.”
“Like what?”
“Like, what does your husband do?”
“He owns Millman Technologies,” she said. “Founded it himself twelve years ago. They make components for the rockets at the Space Center and for Boeing airplanes.”
I wrote it on my notepad. I had heard about Millman Technologies. It was one of the biggest and fastest growing companies on the Space Coast.
“So, you reported your husband missing in November, you say. Where was he last seen?”
“Driving home from the office in Cape Canaveral on November eighth,” she said. “It was a Saturday. Daniel was supposed to come home for Christopher’s sixth birthday party, but he never made it home. His secretary told us he left at five fifteen, and someone saw his car on the A1A driving by the statue of Kelly Slater when entering Downtown Cocoa Beach. It was one of our friends who recognized the car, but no one has seen him since. They found the car in a ditch in Melbourne. No trace of Daniel. I have to admit, I thought he had run off with some twenty year-old.”
“And I take it Christopher is your son?” I saw a painting of all three of them over the fireplace.
“Yes. He’s in boarding school in Palm Beach Gardens. He comes home every weekend.”
“Boarding school in Kindergarten, huh? That is early.”
“It’s the best school around. Can’t compromise with education.”
“As I said, we have reason to believe your husband was killed, ma’am,” I said. “Do you know if your husband had any enemies? Anyone who would want him dead?”
Mrs. Millman looked indifferent. “You mean, besides me?” Then she chuckled.
“You wanted your husband dead?” I asked.
Mrs. Millman hardly reacted to my question. “Of course I didn’t,” she answered sharply.
“How was your relationship?” I asked.
“Dead, like him,” she answered emotionless. “Has been for years.”
I nodded as I wrote it down. I couldn’t quite figure out what was going on here. Maybe their marriage had just been so bad that she had stopped caring?
Beth asked for the restroom, then disappeared for a few minutes. I stared at my notes on my pad. Mrs. Millman looked at me.
“Can I get you anything, Officer?”
“Detective,” I said. “And, no thank you. I’m still good. Is there anyone you would like us to call for you, ma’am?”
She looked at me like she didn’t understand what I said. “Why would that be, Detective?”
“Well, in times of loss, it’s often a good idea to…”
“I’m alright,” she said.
Beth returned and I got up. I handed Mrs. Millman my card. “Call me if you think of anything that we might need to know.”
“Of course, Officer.”
“And, don’t leave town.”
We left the house and got into my Jeep. I started the engine when Beth looked at me. She showed me something in her hand. A small orange bottle of pills.
“Benzos,” she said. “It was tucked in between the towels. And this was just in one of the guest bathrooms.”
“That explains a lot,” I said, and drove out of the driveway.
“The woman probably has them stashed all over the house. Nothing makes you stop caring about things like a benzo. They don't necessarily make you happy, or necessarily make you sad. They just stop your thinking. I once had a depression-induced panic attack and took a benzo. It literally manifested as a vision of a white elephant running through my mind, clearing the negative thoughts and feelings of ultimate doom out. I went to sleep feeling a bit shaken, but not stirred.”
It explained why Mrs. Millman hardly reacted when I told her that her husband had been killed and her repeated questions. But it still didn’t explain what had happened to Daniel Millman. I had a feeling it wasn’t the last time I’d question Mrs. Millman.
Chapter Twenty-Five
March 2015
Shannon still felt happy from spending the night with Jack. She was standing backstage at Runaway Country in Wickham Park in Melbourne, smiling to herself, while Blake Shelton was on. She was going on right after him. She had her stage clothes on, the diamond-covered boots and hat, and she was holding her microphone in her hand, the one she never walked on stage without. It had followed her for years and was covered in diamonds. It was a little much, but that was what a real star had, her manager had told her when buying it for her. It was the first time she’d be going on stage since she left Joe, and she was feeling pretty good about herself for the first time in years. She sensed she was on the right track. Leaving him was the right thing to do.
Wasn’t it?
She thought about Angela. The girl missed her dad a lot, especially since Joe went back to Nashville. He was, after, all her father. Shannon hated to do this to her child…to keep her away from her father, but what else could she do? Joe was out of control right now and threatening her with all kinds of things one moment, then pleading with her desperately to come back the next. It was hard. Shannon still had feelings for him. She knew she did, and standing here backstage, where she used to be with Joe for all those years, she missed him. Just a little bit. She didn’t miss the yelling and the blaming afterwards or the beating, but she missed what they had before all that started. Before he became jealous of her success. Maybe if she stopped this? Maybe if she dropped her career? Maybe then they could be a real family?
No. It was wrong. Shannon knew it very well. Jack was so right for her. Cocoa Beach was the right place to be. She had never felt better. Angela was happier here too, even though she missed her father.
Blake Shelton finished his last tune and people clapped. The females in the audience screamed. He was good. Shannon had met him on many occasions and liked him. Joe had, naturally, been mad every time she had spoken with him, and that never ended well.
Shannon chuckled and smiled to herself. So many memories she had from her life as a musician. Good and bad. But it all came d
own to this…it was her dream, her passion. This was what she loved.
She only wished that Jack could be there to see her.
Blake came out and looked at her with a wide smile.
“They’re all yours, baby,” he said and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I warmed them up for you.”
Shannon smiled while getting ready. The announcer took the microphone. People were already chanting her name.
Shannon King, Shannon King, Shannon King.
Shannon closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She loved this part. The entrance, the anticipation, the screaming, the fans. Oh, how she loved her fans. They were the reason she could live doing what she loved. It was amazing.
“Please welcome Shannon King!”
Shannon walked onto the stage, holding her microphone in her hand with her guitar around her shoulder. The fans screamed. Shannon stared into the ocean of faces.
“Hello Runaway Country!” she yelled. “How are you out there? Are y’all ready for some music?”
The crowd screamed and Shannon hit the first note of her first song. She sang three songs, then the new one that she had just finished last night, just her and her guitar. The crowd went wild. Shannon enjoyed their applause, thanked them, and went back stage. As she did, she spotted Jack. He was clapping while walking towards her. Shannon smiled and threw herself around his neck.
“You made it!”
“You killed it out there,” he said and kissed her. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I did, didn’t I? I don’t think I have ever been better.”
They walked back to her dressing trailer and closed the door. Jack poured them some complimentary iced tea and they sat down, Shannon with a deep satisfied sigh.
“It’s good to see you smiling again,” Jack said. “I’m glad I made it just in time for your set.”
“So, what’s going on? Did they find a body?” Shannon asked.
“Yes. We don’t know much yet. But, let’s not talk about that. That’s boring depressing stuff.”
Shannon smiled and picked up her phone to make a tweet about her set, when she noticed she had received an email. Her heart stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asked. “You’re completely pale, Shannon.”
“It’s from him,” she said, sensing the panic growing inside her. “It’s that guy again.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
March 2015
You were good on stage today, Shannon. You nailed it. Better than any of the other many times I have seen you in concert. I’m guessing this Jack Ryder that we read about in the magazines really does you good. I’m happy for you. It’s always good when it works out, isn’t it? Unfortunately, it doesn’t always work like that, does it? I’m afraid not. That is why I have to do what I must do. Again, you have my apologies. I am so terribly sorry for what I have to do. I hope for your forgiveness.
With love,
AM
Shannon looked at me as I read the email. She was biting her lips. I finished it and gave her the phone back.
“I need you to forward it to my email address. I’ll have Richard send it to the IT guys, who will try and track the email address once again. Last time, nothing came of it, he said. The IP address led us to some computer in India. But we’ll give it another try. This is another address.”
“Do you think he’s here?” she asked. “He wrote that I was good on stage. Do you think he was in the crowd?”
“It’s definitely a possibility,” I said. “He said that he goes to many of your concerts.” I paused and looked at Shannon. I wasn’t quite sure what to do next. If this person was in the crowd out there, could I find him? I had no idea what he looked like. Even if I blocked all the exits I didn’t know what I was looking for. It would only ruin the entire festival and make me very unpopular with Ron. Runaway Country was a huge event around here. I couldn’t destroy it without really strong grounds, and so far, an email wasn’t quite enough.
“You stay here,” I said. “Lock the door when I’m out.”
“Where are you going?”
“I have to go look around for a little while. Maybe talk to the officers at the exits, tell them to look for anyone suspicious. Ask them if they’ve noticed anything. I’ll be back for you afterwards.”
Shannon nodded and did as I had told her to. I left her trailer, then walked into the festival grounds among the thousands of happy guests with beers in their hands. I walked to the entrance and found Officer Rogers from Melbourne Police.
“Ryder,” he said with a nod. “I hear she did good today. I could only hear it from here, but it sounded good.”
“Yes. She did really well.”
He told me everything had been very calm up until now.
“It’s still only the second day of the festival,” he said. “There’s always tomorrow.”
That was one part that worried me. The shooter could strike anytime today or tomorrow. Runaway Country would be the perfect place for this shooter to make his move, if he wanted to repeat what he had done back in ‘09. There were lots of people gathered in one place, lots he could kill in just a few seconds. But what made me wonder was…how he was planning on escaping? A large fence surrounded the place. Police and security guards were everywhere.
I left Officer Roger and found Officer Taylor inside on the festival grounds close to the Main Stage. Another singer had taken the stage. I talked to Taylor for a little while, but he hadn’t seen anything either.
“What exactly are you looking for?” he asked.
I shook my head, while trying to look at every face in the crowd to see if I could spot anything out of the ordinary. Any look in someone’s eyes telling me he wasn’t there for the music. Any nervous tic that could reveal him.
“That’s the damned thing,” I said. “I’m not sure I know.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
March 2015
The killer was watching the show. The singer on the stage was good, but not as good as Shannon King. Shannon was the killer’s absolute favorite singer. Everything about her songs just made sense somehow. They were inspirational.
Through the crowd, the killer spotted Jack Ryder, the detective who was known as Shannon King’s new boyfriend. He was talking to an officer on duty. The killer smiled. Jack Ryder looked worried.
Guess you got my email.
The killer knew it complicated things that Shannon had started seeing this detective, but the killer wasn’t concerned. The killer had prepared this well. Better than last time around. Back in the movie theater, things hadn’t turned out exactly like expected, like planned. It had kept the killer from doing anything like this again for all these years. The killer couldn’t risk everything going wrong like last time. But that was six years ago. This time, the killer had more experience. This time, everything would be perfect.
I’m so sorry for all this.
The killer imagined lifting the gun and shooting into the crowd. The killer still remembered the feeling from last time. The feeling of complete power. The power of life and death.
So exhilarating. Yet so devastating.
The sensation of the weapon going off, the fear in those faces, the screams, the eyes staring in terror at this mad person with their finger on the trigger. A chill ran across the killer’s spine. It was a shame it had to happen again. The killer hated having to do this again, hated to have to feel it again, to see how the victim’s chest would explode when it met the bullet from the killer’s weapon. It had haunted the killer ever since. It had been all the killer had been able to think of for the last six years. Day and night.
The singer on the main stage stopped and thanked her audience. The killer clapped along with everyone else. Another singer took the stage. People cheered. It was getting dark now. The killer stepped out of the crowd and walked towards a stand.
“A Corona, please.”
A woman in a tank top handed the beer over the counter. The killer paid with a ten-dollar bill, asked the woman to keep
the change as a tip, save up for college so she didn’t have to keep working in places like this, and took the beer.
The killer sipped the beer while glancing at the crowd of happy people. Some were dancing while holding their beers up in the air. Most were singing out loud and recording on their phones. A couple was kissing not far from where the killer stood. None of them knew what was about to happen. None even suspected it coming. The killer felt a deep sense of sadness. They were going to be so surprised. Baffled even. Scared. The killer hated to do this to all these happy people. But it had to be done. There was no one who could prevent this from happening. Not even that detective.
The killer looked at Jack Ryder again. A look of desperation was painted all over his face.
I’m so sorry for this. Sorry for causing you all this distress. But you must understand, there is nothing I can do about it. I am nothing but a means to an end. What I do serves a higher purpose. One you might never understand. And I’m not asking you to. I’m not asking for anyone to understand this.
Detective Jack Ryder was on the move now. He walked behind the crowd and approached the killer. Their eyes met and locked for just a second. The killer’s heart started racing.
Has he spotted me? Does he know who I am?
“Could I get a bottle of water, please?” he asked the woman with the ten-dollar bill stuck in her bra. He smiled at the killer with a nod. The killer smiled back.
I’m so sorry, Detective. I’m so terribly sorry.
Part Two
NO NEED TO BE COY
Chapter Twenty-Eight
March 2015
Stanley was in pain. His entire body was hurting so badly from overeating for days now. Finally, his guardian left the room and he had a break for a few minutes to go to the bathroom. The door to the hallway was locked. He heard his guardian turn the key. All Stanley wanted was to run to the bathroom and throw up.
He could hardly get out of the bed. His leg hurt too badly, and he had to roll from the bed to the floor and hit the carpet with a thud. Stanley whimpered, then dragged himself by his arms towards the bathroom. The pain was excruciating. He felt like he had gained fifty pounds over the last two days he had been locked up in this room. Barely a moment had passed without him being fed. It was torture. All he had been allowed to do was to go to the bathroom whenever he needed to, but constantly under his guardian’s supervision. Finally, they had run out of food, and his guardian had left to get more.
